


A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

by QueenOfRohirrim



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Memories, Papa Vesemir, Portraits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfRohirrim/pseuds/QueenOfRohirrim
Summary: Vesemir takes Jaskier on a walk through his family’s past.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert & Vesemir, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

The very first time that Jaskier was invited into Vesemir’s private study was when he came across the portraits.

The walls were adorned with many, frames covering nearly every stone, and each held a painting of a different witcher, or witchers, in the case of quite a few of the paintings.

Vesemir had entered the room first, setting down the crate of potion ingredients he’d been carrying on his writing desk before he crossed the room to look at one of the largest portraits. This one was of someone entirely unfamiliar to Jaskier, and being the curious creature that he was, he couldn’t help but ask questions.

“Who is that exactly?” He questioned the elder wolf timidly, standing behind Vesemir as the old witcher gazed at the portrait. It was an older man, dark brown hair turning grey with age, one eye a striking gold and the other blue and blinded with a jagged scar running across that side of his face. He was dressed in fine armor and chain mail, his right hand grasping the hilt of a mighty silver sword while one of steel sat in its sheath upon his back. A wolf’s head medallion hung around his neck.

“This is my Father.” Vesemir smiled, if a bit sadly, still looking up to the man in the painting. “Grand Master Barmin. Taught me everything I know.”

Jaskier blinked, surprised. The thought of Vesemir having a mentor of his own...It was difficult to think of the father wolf as anything but what he was now. 

“When did he...” Jaskier halted his next question before he could even get most of the words out. It wouldn’t be right to bring up such painful memories for Vesemir. So instead, the bard decided to look for a distraction. “Is this him here as well?” He asked, eyes landing on another portrait that showed Master Barmin and four younger witchers standing at his side. “Who are these fine gentlemen with him?”

Vesemir’s eyes drifted and a saddened smile turned to a fonder one. “Don’t recognize me, lark?” He chuckled, stepping over to the next portrait and pointing to the young wolf at Barmin’s left hand. “Suppose I do look a bit different today, don’t I?”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “That’s you?” He smiled slightly, coming forward for a closer look. “Why, Vesemir, you were quite a dashing fellow...Are these your brothers then? The others?”

The old wolf nodded. “That they are.” He confirmed. “That’s Rennes there at the old man’s right. He was the eldest of us all. Then there’s me here on the left. Elgar’s knelt here in front of Rennes and that’s Adon below me, the runt of the litter, but one of the finest swordsmen I’ve ever known.”

Jaskier observed each wolf carefully. Their expressions, their eyes, the way they held themselves in the picture...They reminded him much of Geralt and his brothers. “I’ll need to hear some stories of these three.” He told Vesemir. “And of you. I imagine you were a bit of a handful all together, weren’t you?”

“That we were.” Vesemir confirmed, stepping back from the painting and clapping a fatherly hand onto Jaskier’s shoulder. “Let me show you something else, lad.” He offered, leading Jaskier to another end of the study, which was quite a large space.

On the wall nearest to his desk, Vesemir had hung a collection of portraits that made the bard’s eyes dampen and his heart swell.

“That’s not...Is that...?” He shook his head in disbelief when Vesemir first pointed out a portrait of a sleeping toddler, wrapped in warm blankets and clinging to a stuffed doll.

“Eskel.” Vesemir smiled brightly this time. “Not long after I brought him home to Kaer Morhen...I was quite proud, as most new father’s are. My first boy...”

“He still has that same hair.” Jaskier observed. “And his ears, they’re the same. His nose too.” It was truthfully quite easy to see that little Eskel was indeed the same massive bulk of a witcher that Jaskier had come to know and love. Even without the scar, he could see the sweet gentleness in the sleeping child’s face that Eskel still carried with him now. 

“He really hasn’t changed much.” Vesemir agreed. “There’s a lot of times I can look at him and still see that little bundle I carried home to the keep that Winter long ago.”

Jaskier’s heart continued to swell at the pure love and adoration that was clear in the old wolf’s voice. 

“Does Eskel know you have this painting?” He jested as he quickly wiped at his eyes. It didn’t do him much good, however, as they fell open the picture hung next to little Eskel. A young boy, no older than seven, surely, dressed in a fine doublet and tie and smiling shyly for his portrait to be painted. His curly brown locks hung into his face and down the back of his neck, and his eyes sparkled a deep dark green.

Everything about him was so very different, but that little smile, however rare it was now, couldn’t be mistaken for that of any other.

“Geralt?” Jaskier muttered and Vesemir nodded.

“Quite a long time before the trials.” He told the bard. “His hair was dark back then...The smile gave him away, didn’t it?”

Jaskier nodded, entranced by the painting. This was his White Wolf.

“Always the most reserved of my bunch.” Vesemir continued. “Though he did spend plenty of time playing make believe. Slaying fire breathing beasts rather than tending to his studies.” The old wolf chuckled again at the memories rolling through his head. “Poor pup. His whole face lit up bright red when I’d catch him trying to rescue a princess, a trusty bucket helmet on his head and a broom handle sword in his hand.”

“Surely not!” Jaskier laughed as well, unable to control his amusement at the thought. “Not Geralt!”

“Oh, yes. Always quiet, but always the most imaginative as well.” Vesemir assured Jaskier, moving him along to the next portrait in line. In this one, he himself stood in the center of the picture, each arm resting upon the shoulders of two young boys: Eskel and Geralt. The younger was still dark of hair, and both wore the eyes of their former human selves. 

Next to that portrait, however, was another of the same sort, only the boys had grown into teenagers, and Geralt’s dark curls had been turned to snowy white. Both boys looked at Jaskier from their canvas with eyes of piercing witcher gold, and a shiny silver medallion hung around each of their necks.

“That one was just before their trials.” Vesemir explained, nodding to the former picture. “And that’s just after they’d completed them all...” He grew quiet for awhile then, seeming to fall back into the not so happy memories once more.

Jaskier didn’t need to look far for a way to pull the old witcher out of his guilt. The picture that awaited their viewing next had the bard clapping a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter.

“Oh my Gods...” He snorted, despite his best efforts to keep the chuckles hidden. 

Vesemir blinked and followed Jaskier’s eyes. His spirits seemed to brighten quickly then. “Lambert.” He grinned, stepping over to the portrait of his youngest pup, wearing the same doublet and tie as Geralt had in his own painting, and scowling as menacingly as he possibly could at the artist who’d painted the picture.

“That face!” Jaskier held back a squeal. “Oh, he’s so angry but it’s just adorable! How old was he here?”

“Six, I believe.” Vesemir smiled at his little son’s threatening frown. It had been quite a task, getting Lambert to sit still for the painting.

“Oh his hair! It’s so long!” Jaskier cooed adoringly at the tiny witcher. “And those cheeks! They’re so chubby!”

“If only he would’ve smiled.” Vesemir chuckled. “But that wasn’t going to happen.”

“Is this him too?” Jaskier questioned as he moved on to another picture, this one of a grown Geralt and Eskel standing on either side of their little brother, who was scowling yet again at the painter. “Oh it is! He was so small! Precious darling!”

“Never tell him you’ve seen these paintings, Jaskier.” Vesemir warned the bard, though he was still smiling as the two of them moved on to a few more portraits of the boys all together. Some, Vesemir was included in, and in others, his sons were standing together with just the three of them, Eskel and Geralt often slinging their arms over their grumpy teenage brother, who kept the same scowl in every picture he appeared in.

The very last portrait was of the entire family, seemingly just after Lambert’s trials had ended, as his medallion now sat at the center of his chest. His hair was cut shorter then, as it was to this very day, and he and his brothers all stood with Vesemir, their mentor and father, waiting for one last family portrait before the sacking of Kaer Morhen had occurred...

“They’ve made me proud, those pups of mine.” Vesemir sighed. “The proudest any father could be...” Once again, the old wolf got quiet, even more so than Geralt when he was being trapped into his own thoughts. “...Well...” He finally managed after a long, rather sorrowful silence. “Let’s get to work on these potions, Jaskier. Too much time spent dwelling on the past and I’ll need a drink before dinner.”

The bard nodded. “Of course.” He agreed, taking one last look at the wall of portraits before following Vesemir to the opposite end of his study. “Right behind you, dear witcher.”


End file.
